


Ritorna Me (Cara Mia Te Amo)

by MissScatteredThoughts



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1990s, Alternate Universe - Return To Me (2000) Fusion, Architect!Steve, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bucky is not the Winter Soldier, Car Accident, F/M, Heart Transplant, M/M, Return to Me AU, Steve Rogers is Not Captain America, Steve and Bucky meet as adults, Tragic Romance, Zoologist!Peggy, artist!Bucky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:36:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27705646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissScatteredThoughts/pseuds/MissScatteredThoughts
Summary: Steve Rogers and Peggy Carter were a match made in heaven. Married for almost ten years, the two were devoted to their work as architect and zoologist respectively, as much as they were devoted to each other. April 1990, the beginning of a new decade, and the beginning of their new joint project, to refurbish Prospect Park Zoo completely. It seemed as though nothing could go wrong.Across town, Bucky Barnes is dying. Plagued by a weakened heart since he was fourteen, Bucky has finally reached the end of the line. Without a new heart, he will die.When a tragic accident starts the crossover of their lives, both Steve and Bucky must move forward with the cards they have been dealt.(Return to Me-inspired work)
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers
Comments: 9
Kudos: 20





	1. Oh my love, hurry back, I'm yours

Steve jogged up the front steps of his and Peggy’s Brooklyn brownstone, pulled along by Dodger. The pit bull’s short fur was exceedingly damp, rivaling Steve’s tux pants, which had not been protected from the rain by the long coat he had worn for the short walk. He shut the front door against the rain and proceeded to attempt to dry off his dog with the towel from the hook by the front door.

“Come on boy, let’s get you something to eat.”

Dropping his wet coat on the end of the stairway banister, he headed to the kitchen to measure out some kibble. Dodger didn’t follow him however, choosing instead to sit by the front door, staring at the doorknob.

“Come on Dodge, she’ll be home any minute!”, Steve called out futilely. Shaking his head at the dog’s loyalty, he jogged upstairs. As he reached the landing, he heard the front door open and the click of his wife’s heels hit the hard wood floor.

“Hey Sweetheart!”, he called down, involuntarily smiling as she called up softly in response,

“Hello, darling! Did you get my dress from the dry cleaners?”

He heard her drop her heels by the front door and begin padding up the stairs, quickly. She always looked smart for work, but given the rain, he knew she’d need some time to get ready before they left for the fundraiser.

“Picked up your dress from the cleaners. We’re on schedule, everything’s going to be fine and you’re going to be a hit tonight”, Steve replied, throwing as many reassurances in as he could, before adding,

“I also took Dodger out for a walk!”

“Please don’t tell me you did in your tux”, she reached the top of the stairs as she said it, in time to see him guiltily holding her hair dryer to the bottom of his black, dress pants in an attempt to dry them. She let out a small laugh at the sight and walked forward to wrap her arms around her ridiculous husband. She gave him a lingering kiss that he returned heartily, before noticing Dodger had followed her upstairs.

“Dodger, go eat”, she said, mock sternly, from her position in Steve’s arms. Dodger immediately turned around and padded downstairs. Like Steve, Dodger would do anything for Peggy. She placed one last peck on her husband’s lips, before pulling away to get ready for the evening.

* * *

Across town, in the New York City Health & Hospital, Bucky Barnes was lying in a hospital bed. The hospital room he had spent too many hours to count in was about as exciting as any, made different only by the pictures and his paintings that were taped to the walls, brought from home by his friends. His bedside table held wilting flours and a dozen cards, bought and home-made. Beside him Timothy Dugan was awake and reading aloud from one of the hospital’s generic fitness magazines.

“Let’s do this quiz, for shits and giggles, huh? Gonna predict how long we’re gonna live. Alright, how active are you… A. Very B. Somewhat C. Not at all. Jesus, they pay someone to write these? Alright, let’s go with A, so we get a good score.”

Bucky muttered something indistinguishable under his breath and Dugan jumped up.

“What is it? Neck okay? Is it your back? I can adjust these for you”, Dugan was fussing over Bucky’s head, like a mother hen. Not that Bucky could blame his best friend. Bucky had been having oxygenation issues, even with the cannula tube feeding him air. His heart was failing him, after a decade of beating weakly and fluttering when it should have been thumping. He had a constant ache in his chest. His hands and feet were ice cold, the only variance from the general body aches he had been feeling for months. How he felt was rivaled only by how he looked. His hair was greasy and tied back. His skin was clammy, but his lips were dry and tinged blue from the lack of oxygen.

“You… should go home, Dum Dum”, Bucky reiterated, louder though still barely more than a whisper.

“Why would I wanna leave your ugly mug, huh Barnes?”, Dugan joshed, sitting down in the hard hospital chair again.

“Get…rest…See Lorraine…and kids…”, the words came from barely moving lips and had he had the energy, Bucky would have grimaced at the effort it took to say that incomplete sentence.

“You know Lorraine will send me right back, if she found out I left you here alone”, Dugan stated with finality. If Bucky could have grinned, he would have. Lorraine was Dugan’s spitfire of a wife. They had shouting matches that all of Brooklyn could hear some nights but loved each other fiercely. Three children and one more on the way were a testament to their marriage, or at least their unwavering attraction to each other. Neither had ever had eyes for anyone else.

“Take…care of the…guys and… restaurant, okay?”, Bucky asked. He wasn’t feeling hopeless, there had never been any room for that in his fight to keep living. But there was some acceptance, as his condition worsened. Dugan frowned.

“What are you saying that for?”

“I… may never…get a heart, Tim.”

Dugan cleared his throat, rapidly blinking. He wasn’t one to cry easily. His children being born and watching his best friend decline in a hospital bed had caused a few exceptions though. He roughly answered.

“Don’t talk like that, Buck. You’ll get a heart. Think of all the things you’ll be able to do with it. Take up running like you always wanted. Hell, riding a bike? Plus, you’ll be able to get any gal or guy you want, think of that!”

Bucky huffed out a shallow breath, the closest he could manage to get to a laugh.

“I’m getting… a new heart… not a new ass.”

The joke made Dugan guffaw, perhaps not for its originality or hilarity, but because it showed the guy he knew was still in there and still alive enough to joke. He relaxing against the back of his chair, he continued with reading aloud.


	2. For my heart wants you only

Peggy’s presentation at the fundraiser was met with thunderous applause from the roomful of men and women dressed to the nines. The idea was to wine and dine all the potential donors, and hopefully earn enough money to re-do the Prospect Park Zoo from the failing state it was currently in. Peggy’s marvelous breakdown of the new sections they could instate: World of Animals, Animal lifestyles, and Animals in our Lives, won the crowd over. Peggy could care less about souvenir shops and aesthetics. She wanted to build new enclosures, using Steve’s designs that utilized more vertical space rather than horizontal. It would make use of the limited amount of space they had much more efficiently. She also wanted there to be fair treatment of all the animals there and to be realistic about what they could realistically care for.

Peggy had been working with some of the animals longer than she had been married to Steve. She had begun working at the struggling Prospect Park Zoo at sixteen, after her family had moved from England for her father’s work. It had been a battle convincing her parents, due to the mess that Prospect Park in general had become, having just lost the head of the wildlife park. But she had been determined from the moment she first visited, that she would be the one to turn the zoo around.

It was where she had met Steve, an anecdote she included in her presentation, along with a picture in her power-point of them standing in front of the Prospect Park Zoo sign from their wedding day. In 1976, he had come to the zoo to sketch. Peggy had noticed him sitting on a bench across from the monkey enclosure, concentrating so hard on his drawing that he didn’t notice as she walked up. Peggy had introduced herself and took the lead on their relationship, setting the tone for the rest of their relationship. Every significant moment of their lives had occurred in Prospect Park Zoo: their meeting, their first kiss, and even Steve’s proposal. 

She had kept that job, working her way up the ladder, even as she eventually married Steve and graduated college. In 1987, when Prospect Park Zoo became famous for the polar bear attack that resulted in two dead bears and one dead child, Peggy had very nearly given up. Convincing the board to not immediately demolish the park, as well as sell or put down the remaining animals had been a turning moment in her career. She persevered, and in 1989, had single-handedly brokered a partnership with the Wildlife Conservation Society in order to keep the Prospect Park Zoo open. Her repour had earned her a consultation position at the Bronx Zoo and the Central Park Zoo. Now her current monumental task was to convince donors to contribute the money it would take to completely restore the zoo itself, turning their attention away from the incident of ’87.

Steve was currently looking for his wife in the crowded ballroom. She had been whisked away immediately after her presentation. In all directions, it was a sea of people tippling champagne and discussing the frivolities of upper-crust life. Steve inwardly cringed as he saw Alexander Pierce making his way over to him. Pierce was a big donor, at the insistence of his young wife rather than voluntarily. He liked to laud his sizable donations to anyone he could, even though they were all technically anonymous (again at his wife’s insistence).

“Mr. Rogers! Tell me, how is my large contribution being spent this month?”, Pierce said, with false joviality. Steve forced a smile. Peggy was always so much better at small talk. Steve liked to be straight-forward. He did much better designing buildings and working construction, than he did at any social event. If it were up to Steve to win over investors and board members, no projects would ever leave the ground.

“Mr. Pierce, you know how thankful my wife is for all your generosity."

Spotting Sam Wilson across the room, Steve enthusiastically waved him over. Sam had worked as a part-time veterinarian at the zoo for almost as long as Peggy had been there. He and Steve had hit it off at an employee barbecue years ago. A good friend, Sam immediately walked over, expression falling as he saw who Steve was talking to.

“Mr. Wilson should be able to give you a much better idea than I can of the ins and outs. He’s with Peggy at Prospect Park much more than me. Can’t quit my day job just yet”, the joke fell a little flat, but Steve didn’t care. Trying his best to thank Sam with his eyes, he extracted himself from the sticky situation and went back to scanning the crowd for Peggy. He found her talking to Howard and Maria Stark. He silently slotted himself beside Peggy, wrapping his left arm around her waist. He had arrived in time to catch the tail-end of the conversation.

“I’ll be flying us to Italy, to the villa for one last hurrah, before little Anthony gets here”, Howard said nonchalantly, managing to fit both the ownership of his own plane and Italian villa into the same sentence. While a nice guy, he had the tendency to brag, especially when he was half a bottle of whiskey deep. Maria stood smiling, one hand on her belly. She was a wonderfully quiet trophy wife, though she did look between Peggy and Steve, before asking,

“And you two? Any plans for vacations?”

Howard threw in boisterously, “How about kids? Take a vacation and get one going, kill two birds with one stone!”

He laughed a little two hard at his own joke, taking another swig of his drink. Maria gave him a disapproving glance before turning her attention back to Peggy. Gracefully ignoring Howard and continuing the conversation, Peggy answered.

“Well, Steve’s always wanted to see the Grand Canyon. We may take a road trip out there one of these days.”

Maria seemed a little bemused at their choice of location and mode of transportation, but was too polite to say anything other than a quaint, “That’s nice”.

“If you two don’t mind, I promised my wife we’d dance at least once tonight”, Steve gave the Starks a nod, before pulling Peggy away with him. She looked stunning in her red dress, complemented with matching red lipstick. She gave him an appreciative look, letting out a deep breath, the only betrayal of any anxious feelings for the night. She stopped him before they reached the dance floor, saying,

“Tell me honestly, how was I? Do we have a chance?”

Pulling her to face him, he grasped her both her hands in reassurance. He spoke earnestly, looking into her big brown eyes.

“You were perfect. Absolutely wonderful, Pegs. I’m so proud.”

His words made her smile, though she added, “Don’t be too proud, we haven’t broken ground yet.”

Raising her hands to his lips to leave a brief kiss, he stated, “How about this, you promise to take some time off with me to drive out west and I promise, I’ll see Prospect Park redone, whether we get the funding or not. Now come on, I promised my best girl a dance.”

She broke out in a dazzling smile and nodded, and for once let him lead her out to the dance floor, as the next song began. They swayed as Dean Martin’s words were sung by the live band. Steve pressed Peggy close, his cheek against her hair, for a moment. She pulled back, only so she could give him a light kiss.

_Return to me_

_Oh my dear I’m so lonely_

_Hurry back, hurry back_

_Oh my love hurry back I’m yours_

_Return to me_

_For my heart wants you only_

_Hurry home, hurry home_

_Won’t you please hurry home to my heart_

_My darling, if I hurt you I’m sorry_

_Forgive me and please say you are mine_

_Return to me_

_Please come back bella mia_

_Hurry back, hurry home to my arms_

_To my lips and my heart_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Bucky in this chapter folks, sorry about that! I know it's heavily Steve/Peggy, but big things are coming.   
> Also I tried to match this up to actual Prospect Park Zoo history, so if you're interested in that, the park did actually get refurbished in the early '90s and there was actually a fatal accident in '87 involving polar bears.


	3. My darling, if I hurt you I'm sorry

The lights of the hospital were blinding. Steve’s ears were still ringing from the sound of screeching metal and ambulance sirens. He wasn’t sure what had happened. He had just been in his car with Peggy, on the way home from the fundraiser. They had only been five minutes from home.

* * *

_Steve had one hand on the wheel and one holding Peggy’s. He had always driven like that, ever since they started dating. Peggy always reached for his hand. They were both so busy on the daily, she was constantly reminding him that they should be as close as they could when they could be._

_“I was thinking about something Howard said tonight”, Peggy ventured, toying with Steve’s hand a little. Steve took his eyes off the crowded Avenue for a moment to glance over at her. Her hair had come slightly loose from the bobby pins holding back her curls and cheeks were pink from the champagne. As the perpetual designated driver for the two of them, Steve had handed his own drinks off to those around him as usual. Turning his eyes back to the road, he let out a small snort and asked,_

_“You sure you want to be listening to anything that guy says?”_

_She gave him a disapproving look, before shooting back, “He may seem like a bit of a lush, but I’ll have you know he’s one of the top scientists of our age.”_

_Steve nodded, holding back a “Coulda fooled me” due to the seriousness in Peggy’s voice. Waiting for her to go ahead, it grew quiet in the car, so he prodded._

_“What was it that he said?”_

_He could see her straighten her back a little in his peripherals and almost got a little nervous. Peggy only did that before heading into important meetings or bringing up something she thought he would disagree with. He didn’t like that she was hesitating. Peggy never hesitated with anything._

_“Well, when he mentioned children… specifically us having children, I thought maybe that was something we could talk about. Us having a baby.” She said it quickly. Steve couldn’t help the surprise he was sure was showing on his face. He proceeded carefully._

_“I thought we agreed that the Prospect Park Project was our baby, that we didn’t have time for anything else?”_

_They were her rationales he was repeating. It wasn’t as if they had never discussed it before, but that last time Steve hade brought up children was well over five years before. After a particularly heated discussion on their future progeny, Steve had decided to let it go. He didn’t hold any resentment over that, he had simply sat himself down and figured out what mattered to him. Hypothetical children weren’t his priority, Peggy was._

_“I know I said all that, but seeing Maria made me think… well, I never was so inclined until now. I do love you Steve and I wouldn’t mind having a little us running around. But I understand if you don’t want that.” To the untrained ear, Peggy would have sounded nonchalant, but for Steve he could hear the subtle disappointment at his reaction. He stopped at a red light, mulling for only a second on what he was going to say. Squeezing her hand, he began._

_“Peggy, I want what you want and if it’s a baby, I wouldn’t mind a little us running around either.”_

_The idea filled Steve with trepidation. The logistics of time and money ran through his head, which was a completely flipped script. Normally Peggy was the business side of their relationship and Steve was the sentimentality. The light turned green, as Peggy’s face broke out in a relieved smile. It erased his nerves, feeling her tighten her grip on his hand, as he began to pull through the intersection. He turned, smiling, to look at her fully for a moment, just in time to see car lights barreling towards them._

* * *

“I’ve got a female, 30, car accident. Hit on the right side, head trauma, unconscious at the scene and never regained”, the paramedic rattled off the words that meant nothing to Steve. He couldn’t believe they applied to his wife. He clung to the side of her gurney, having to jog to keep up with the nurses pushing her along. Bloody gauze wrapped around her head, her neck in a neck brace. It made Steve’s stomach churn to see her look so broken. Vaguely he recognized the words “neural surgery” being thrown around and the pain in his left wrist, but all he could focus on was Peggy. He willed her to open her eyes and tell them they were all overreacting. She never had allowed for much fuss.

“Does she have any allergies?”

Steve belatedly realized there were questions being directed at him.

“Sir, what is her name? Sir?”

Dazed, Steve heard himself say, “Margaret Carter-Rogers”.

The gurney approached a double door and Steve felt himself being held back by one of the female nurses. She tried to hurriedly explain.

“I’m sorry, sir, you can’t go in. I’m sorry. You’re going to have to wait here. We’re going to try to help.”

Deciding that was sufficient, the nurse turned around and disappeared through the double doors, leaving Steve alone. Through the glass, he saw Peggy and the flock of medical professionals disappear around a corner. He stood there, lost. Everything in him wanted to push through the doors and follow his wife.

Eventually, he was escorted by a different nurse to an examination room, where they checked for signs of a concussion and wrapped his fractured wrist. She slowly explained that it would be several hours yet before they had any news. She directed him to the waiting room, like he was a small child in need of assistance. With nothing to distract him, he sat in the mutual silence with others waiting to hear the future of their loved ones. The discomfort of the hard chair didn’t matter to him. He did notice the strange looks he was getting and realized there was blood on the white of his tux, _her blood._ A barely controlled wave of nausea ran through him. He leaned his head forward, resting them on his folded hands. It had been years since he had last prayed, but he closed his eyes and ran through the memorized words, if only to give himself something to think about besides the precarious position his wife was in.

* * *

Deep in the heart of Brooklyn, was a successful hole-in-the-wall restaurant owned by Bucky Barnes and Tim Dugan. The two had been friends from childhood, picking up strays as they grew up until their group was composed of not only them, but Gabe Jones, Jim Morita, Jacques Dernier, and James Falsworth, as well. In 1985, Bucky and Tim had gone in on a rundown building together, armed with determination, copious amounts of soap, and four very supportive friends. They had shined it into shape and christened after the neighborhood nickname for their friend group. Although Bucky had no collegiate education, he had spent hours of his life learning to cook from his mother. It was one of the only activities that didn’t tire him out too early or cause pain. Combining that with a charisma that could charm birds out of trees, it was no wonder that as soon as the restaurant was up and running, it became a smash hit. Each man filled a different role in the building, all together keeping “The Howling Commandos” restaurant in business. It served American faire that ranged from Winifred Barnes’ award winning meatloaf to Morita’s secret recipe steamed dumplings, along with plenty of booze. The night of April 12th, 1990 was like any other when it came to business.

“Gabe, we got two more orders of cheeseburgers and fries. Still waiting on those dumplings, Morita!”, Falsworth said, upon entering the kitchen.

“Listen, buddy, you can’t rush perfection”, Morita replied, earning a laugh from where Gabe was pulling fries out of the grease.

“Dum Dum and Buck are so much better at this”, Falsworth griped, obviously disliking his role as the server. Given that he usually manned the bar with Dernier, it was no surprise. The two of them usually traded shifts back and forth to keep the bar going late every day. With Bucky out of commission and Dugan by his side tonight, it had fallen to the four of them to adjust accordingly and keep everything running smoothly. That left Falsworth running the main floor, while Dernier handled the bar. It didn’t help that every other table had asked after Bucky’s health. The whole neighborhood knew Buck as a part owner. Even when he couldn’t keep the energy to serve, he stubbornly would sit at the bar and slowly make his way around to talk to all his regulars. Falsworth appreciated the care from all the locals tonight, but the constant reminder that a man he considered a brother was lying in a hospital bed dying had him ready to put a hole in the wall. Quiet the feat, as he was usually one of the most level-headed of their friend group.

The phone ringing interrupted the men’s conversation. They looked towards the regular restaurant phone on the wall by the kitchen door, used when customers called in orders and reservations, but that wasn’t the one ringing. It was the smaller, black wall phone that hung in the corner by the tiny desk they had shoved in the kitchen for paperwork. They had installed that phone for emergencies a year back, when Bucky had first started significantly downhill after the long plateau from fourteen to twenty-three. It had a heart-shaped paper sign above it, designed by Lorraine and Dugan’s oldest daughter that read “Uncle Bucky” in big, purple letters. Each man held his breath, as Falsworth went to pick it up. They never knew what news it would bring, with only two real options at this point.

“Dugan?”, Falsworth answered, before breaking out in a massive smile, eyes suspiciously wet. “Yeah, we’ll be there as soon as the restaurant is closed up. I don’t care that it won’t be complete until morning, we’ll bring coffee and food!”

He hung up the phone, before turning to the guys and sharing, “This is it boys. Barnes is getting a new heart!”

The cheering carried out of the kitchen, and throughout the restaurant. 

* * *

Steve had known it was hopelessly over when a doctor came to see him less than thirty minutes after he had been told to sit and wait. The explanation of head trauma and the accompanying platitudes went past his ears. The words “organ donor” hit him a little. He recalled Peggy signing up for that option on her license and registering with the local hospital. She had given him a speech full of conviction about death saving others’ lives. At the time, he had agreed with her, but now… the idea of Peggy being taken apart for the sake of some stranger… it revived the nausea that had barely settled.

“Is there someone we can contact to get you home, sir?”

At some point, the doctor had left him, replaced by the same nurse who had wrapped his wrist earlier. She had asked the question and waited patiently as he pulled out his phone. He felt like he was moving in slow motion, as he flipped the device open and pulled up the antenna. He typed a number out and handed the phone to her, not trusting his own voice.

Sam Wilson, faithful as ever, arrived at the hospital in record time. He had been given a quick rundown over the phone by the kind nurse, but inquired again at the front desk, before retrieving Steve. He drove five miles under the speed limit, not that it mattered to his companion. Steve may have been looking out the window, but he wasn’t seeing past his own memories. His throat had closed up earlier and was showing no signs of returning.

Sam let them into the brownstone, Dodger running up to greet them as if nothing was wrong.

“I’m gonna stay with you, man”, Sam volunteered. His calm exterior was cracking. Peggy had been one of his closest friends, and the reality of her loss caused tears to start falling down his cheeks.

Steve didn’t notice, instead hyper-focused on the note by the front door. Peggy had hung it there only this morning, on her way to work. Her cursive scrawl, reminding him to pick up her red dress for the event and ending with “all my love, Pegs”. She didn’t have to do that. Remind him of her love. But she always had, even on the simplest of notes. It had been an ever-present thrum of energy, a constancy of care that Steve had lived with for over a decade. Now it was gone.

He found himself shaking his head at Sam. Although he disagreed with Steve’s decision, Sam was never one to push any type of boundaries.

“Okay, but I’ll be by in the morning, okay?”

Steve nodded, feeling himself get pulled into a tight hug by the other man. Then his friend was gone, leaving him along with Dodger. As he usually did, Dodger stared patiently at the door, waiting for Peggy to come sweeping in.

Leaning against the door and sliding to the floor, Steve pulled his dog’s face towards his and whispered brokenly, “She’s not coming home, Dodge.”

It opened the flood gates. Tears began streaming down his face. It was an ugly cry, his face screwed up in pain and pressed against Dodger’s neck. The wracking sobs echoed in the house, which seemed cavernous with only the two of them taking up space.

Eventually, the tears stopped, but the pain didn’t. Steve curled on his side in front of the door still in the torn, blood-stained tuxedo. Dodger laying parallel next to him. Unwillingly, he fell asleep, exhaustion yanking him under.

He awoke at 6:37 am the next morning, wide awake, as dim light began to stream in the room. For a moment he lay blissfully unaware, the memory of the night before temporarily gone before he registered where he was and it all crashed upon him again. 

Unbeknownst to him, across town at exactly 6:37am, Bucky Barnes’ new heart began to beat in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did do some quick research and it seems gender does not significantly hinder the heart transplant process! If you are a medical whiz and know something I don't, please remember this is fiction and for the purposes of this story it's totally do-able.


	4. Won't you please hurry home to my heart

April 12th, 1991

Exactly a year later, Bucky was sitting out back of the restaurant, painting in the cool spring air. They were lucky to have a small courtyard as part of their property, which he had commandeered for his vegetable garden and painting area, rather than opening it up for customer use. He lived above the restaurant, making it easy for him to wake up and come straight outside to paint or plant.

He pretended not to notice the curtains flutter, signaling one of the guys checking he hadn’t keeled over since they last looked. Over the course of the year, they had slowly stopped treating him like he was made of glass. The ten-inch scar on his chest marking the time, as it healed from angry red to pink. He was less fragile now, with the scar, than he had been for the better part of his life. It had enabled him to begin biking around New York, to the corner sandwich shop he liked and to Dugan’s family brownstone. He had even started jogging early in the mornings. It was slow of course, having never been able to do so before, but it was something.

Wiping off his brushes, he sat back and examined the painting he had produced. It an interpretive scene of the Colorado mountains. He had never been, hence the interpretation, but had seen North American nature documentaries during some of his longer hospital stays. He would lay in the hospital bed, trying to imagine what it was like to hike up Pike’s Peak with no pain. 

Heading inside, he caught the guys playing poker at the backroom table. Dugan was at home with the wife and kids, but the rest of the bachelors holed up here most days. Perks of running a restaurant that was only open in the late afternoon and evenings. Bucky pretended they didn’t stick around like glue just to keep an eye on him. His entrance sparked raucous pleas from Falsworth and Morita for him to join the game, though they weren’t loud enough to cover up Dernier swearing in colorful French at Gabe, who was obviously winning the round.

“Sorry guys, got my check up today and then that Zoo date with Dum Dum and the kids”, he said, heading past the table. Morita stood up quickly.

“Come on, let me give you a ride, pal.”

Bucky shook his head, motioning for Jim to sit down.

“Nah, I’m gonna ride my bike. It’s not that far.” His response was met with grumbling approval. Bucky could get away with doing just about anything on his own now, as long as he took his bike. One of the many activities he’d never been able to do before the surgery, the guys couldn’t argue with him on it. Gabe held up a wave, motioning for Bucky to stay for a minute.

“Alright, before you go Barnes, settle a little debate we’re having here. Best male singer, dead or alive?”

“He’ll pick Freddy Mercury”, Morita chimed in. Bucky shook his head with a smile. The guys spent their poker nights debating the world’s best anything, always managing to disagree six ways to Sunday no matter what the question was.

“Nah boys, Dean Martin. I can still hear my ma crooning along in the kitchen.”

Winifred Barnes had been a notoriously bad singer, but the memory kept the smile on Bucky’s face as he pedaled through the busy Brooklyn streets to his appointment. It was one of his routine monthly check-ups. Turns out having someone else’s heart fitted to your body was kind of a big deal. Buck knew Dr. Cho quite well at this point, or he liked to pretend he did, considering the good doctor didn’t speak much more than was necessary. He liked Nurse Maria too. She always managed to be working when he was in, today being no exception as she walked into the room and greeted him.

“Morning Bucky!”

He smiled, “Hey Maria.”

At times she looked at him with a bit of a twinkle in her eye. She danced on the fine line between flirting and patient small talk with him. He had never had a problem with charming men and women, but knowing you’re dying put a damper on anything serious before the surgery. Now he was all style and very little experience with actually dating. It didn’t help that he felt too exposed when anyone saw the scar on his chest, which was impossible to hide in the V-neck, paper shirt they had him wear for check-ups. He couldn’t shake the feeling, even with Maria, who had seen it from the first monthly appointment. The incision had still been an angry red at that time, his sternum still achy from being cracked open. Now his bones had healed and the wound had faded into a light pink scar, but he couldn’t make the vulnerability when the mark was visible fade. Maria began clinically taking his temperature, as Dr. Cho spoke up.

“Well, James, everything is looking good. You’re doing great. How are you feeling?”

He spoke around the thermometer in his mouth, “Good. Happy. I mean, of course, I’m happy. What else am I gonna be?” Maria’s eyes flickered from the thermometer screen to his for a moment.

“Well, we all have our days”, Cho said, noncommittally, more focused on the chart she was filling out than the conversation she was having. That fact when unnoticed by Bucky, now preoccupied by the idea the doctor had put out there. Maria removed the thermometer and read off the temperature. Muscle memory had Bucky pulling up his left sleeve to make it easier for Maria to wrap the blood pressure cuff around it. She placed in her earpieces of the stethoscope and began to listen to his heartbeat. His preoccupation finally manifested itself into a response to Cho.

“I don’t feel like I should have ‘days’. I should be happy to just be alive and I am! I know I don’t have forever. Could be a whole lifetime but might not be. I could get ten years and I’ll be grateful for them. But…”, he paused, his expression dropping. “I’m alive because someone else is dead. I should just shut up and be happy, right?”

He drooped a little at the end. His life did make him happy, but if he could have lived without needing someone else to die, he would have done whatever else it would have taken in a heartbeat. He’d never voice that to the guys, especially Dugan. He didn’t want any of them to think he was ungrateful. He buried the feelings, just like he hid the scar, under many layers. Dr. Cho, lost in her own world, gave a short “mhmm” before ripping off a piece of paper from her notepad.

“Here’s a prescription, add these to your morning meds. You’re good to get dressed and go, I’ll see you next month!”

With that she walked out of the room, completely unaware of what she had missed. Maria finished taking his blood pressure and turned to write it on the chart. Though she had missed the latter half of what Bucky had said, she tentatively suggested,

“You know, if you need someone to talk to, there are support groups for this kind of—”

Bucky interrupted before she finished, “Nah, don’t worry about it Nurse, I’ll be right as rain.”

  * -



Steve was beyond frustrated. At the rate the re-building was going, it would take five years to re-furbish the whole park. Not to mention the fact that they still hadn’t received the go-ahead to close the park from visitors, a huge contributor to the sluggishness of the project. The construction had garnered some excitement from the community, increasing turnout in the past year, even though there was nothing new to see yet.

He clutched his hard hat, jogging to catch up with the crew leaders: Fury, Coulson, and Barton.

“Phil, what the hell is going on?”

The man gave him a shrug, “I don’t know, not my department Cap.”

The construction crew had taken to calling him “the Captain”, since he had spearheaded the whole project and ran it like a military operation. Steve had been present on construction sites for his own designs before, but he was all-in with this project. The past year he had worked an arguably unhealthy number of hours, only slightly cutting back when Sam threatened to get higher ups involved in assigning mandatory leave.

“Well, who’s department is it?”, Steve pushed. The four of them had reached his work trailer, the closest thing he had to an office on this project. Fury cut in, scowling.

“More importantly, Rogers, my men worked eighteen hours yesterday. They can’t—”

Steve interrupted, “They’re getting time and a half, I don’t see the problem.”

“The problem is it’s not sustainable. You know this.”

Steve’s patience was wearing thin today. It was an immature move, but he elected to ignore Nick and head into the trailer, shutting the door in their faces. He ran a hand over his face and stood in the cluttered trailer for a moment, waiting for the guys outside to disperse before he went back out.

-

The zoo’s bright colors and sounds were a severe contrast to the grays and blues of the doctor’s office. Dugan had taken a day off from the part time job he worked outside of the restaurant to give Lorraine a break from their three heathens.

There was a USPS letter box placed at the entrance of Prospect Park Zoo. Pulling the double-stroller to a stop and grabbing the back of his oldest daughter’s shirt to keep her front running into the zoo without them, Dugan gave Buck a knowing look. Bucky sighed; he had privately hoped Dugan had forgotten the secondary reason for them going out today. A letter had been burning a hole in Bucky’s pocket for almost a year. Since there was no way to thank the contributor of any heart donors, it was customary for heart transplant patients to write a letter of thanks to the contact or liaison of the organ donor. Bucky had written his as soon as he had been recovered enough to put pen to paper, and that letter had stayed with him for 365 days. It was folded in the pocket over his stolen heart. A month before, he had finally told Dugan to make him send it on the year anniversary.

“Just send it Buck, you know you’ll feel better.”

_That’s debatable,_ Bucky wanted to say. “Better” wasn’t the right word for it. A little less preoccupied? Yes. But nothing would make him feel better about the exact issue he had voiced to Cho not an hour before. He had spent hours in the past year thinking about what it would be like to be on the receiving end of this letter. If he lost someone he cared about, how could a piece of paper do anything to assuage that? Even a year later. He pulled it out of his jacket anyways and tried to smooth out the bent edges of the envelope. Before he could convince himself not to send it again, he pulled open the mailbox hatch and dropped it in. The white of the envelope was swallowed by the blue mailbox, making it impossible for Bucky to take it back now.

“Everyone clap for Uncle Bucky, he just did something very brave”, Dugan said to the kids, evoking a smattering of claps.

Bucky gave him a small appreciative smile, but his heart was thundering in his chest. It slowed as they walked towards the first building, his nerves settling as he let the children distract him with their babbling and pointing. He was in the middle of explaining the difference between omnivores and carnivores to Gracie and Lucy, Dugan’s older two daughters, when a tall, blond man came into view. He was striding directly towards Dugan’s posse purposefully, his face set with determination. The man made eye contact with Bucky for only a split second as he passed beside him, barely an inch away. A flush rose on Bucky’s cheeks and his recently calmed heart stuttered in an almost pleasant way. He had stopped speaking in the middle of his little lesson, which he only realized when Lucy piped up.

“Are you okay, Uncle Bucky?”

He looked down at the kids with a goofy smile, “Yeah I am. Whatever it was, it didn’t hurt.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is long overdue! I do apologize. I never thought I would be bested by school and holidays but alas. I also restructured a bit in order to get this out, so the majority of the Steve/Bucky interaction is next chapter. Considering I have spent 4 chapters basically putting together character background, I appreciate anyone who stuck around. My fanfiction skills are very green and I am doing my best to hone them. Thanks guys!


	5. Oh my dear, I'm so lonely

Steve had semi-recovered from the burst of emotion several days before. It had taken only one extremely one-sided conversation with the yuppies that managed the money for the whole enterprise, before they were agreeing to Steve’s proposition (demands) to speed up the project. Steve didn’t usually try to come off as threatening, he just happened to be built from the years working on construction and sometimes it worked in his favor.

The success of his meeting had him in such a relieved mood, that he’d allowed Sam to rope him into one of the double date dinners that Sam had been nagging him about for the past two months. Steve loved Sam as a friend, but as soon as the year anniversary of Peggy’s death had started to come around the bend, he had began working on Steve tirelessly. It was meant well, but there were times Steve wished Sam understood the swirling darkness that had swallowed Steve, that still clung to him every time he saw Dodger staring at the front door or gathered in the silence of the empty Brownstone he used to share with her. No single person was going to magically fix this, as too many people had told Steve it would take time.

He had been… not excited or even happy per se, but not particularly dreading this date, until he had grabbed the mail on his way out of his house. Now he was sitting in front of the Howling Commando’s Restaurant, waiting for a valet with the damn letter in his hand. Someone in the long chain of people that had spoken to Steve after Peggy’s death had told him this would happen, that it was common practice for a thank you letter to be sent from the recipient of the organ donation. It was all anonymous, forwarded from the sender through the hospital to the next-of-kin, and pointless in his opinion. He didn’t want a thank you letter, but here it was clutched in his hand.

He jumped when the teenage valet knocked on the window. Shoving the letter into the glove box with the rest of the junk mail, he hopped out and tossed his keys to the kid. This restaurant didn’t seem fancy enough to require valet parking, but considering there was no parking in sight, Steve didn’t care where they put his truck as long as he got it back by the end of the night.

The restaurant was hopping, people waving goodbye and smiling as they pushed past Steve to leave. The atmosphere made Steve feel like he was stumbling back in time, with retro Americana décor cluttering the walls. There were framed posters and sepia-toned pictures. The light from the Edison bulbs was warm, softening the edges of everything in the room and making the wood of the tables and bar counter practically glow. The latter was packed with people snagging drinks poured out by a slight man who was yelling French across the room to an African American man who had his head popped out of a back door that Steve assumed was the kitchen.

“Steve!”

Sam’s voice caught his attention, from a round, booth table in the corner where he was sitting with his girlfriend Maria and a blonde woman Steve assumed to be his own date for the night. He took a moment, as he turned to hang up his jacket on the cluttered coatrack by the front door, to take a deep breath. Turning around, he plastered a grin on his face and made his way past full tables to sit with them.

“Finally here!”, Sam proclaimed, obviously buzzed as he stood slightly to slap Steve on the shoulder. Maria was pressed to her boyfriend’s side, giving a soft “Hey Steve” and a sympathetic look. Maria and Sam had only been dating for six months, meaning she’d never known a Steve that wasn’t grieving. Her pity had, at the first meeting, been palpable and almost too much, but now he could deal with the constant sad eyes directed at him.

He sat on the end opposite from Sam, by his blind date, who was openly looking him up and down, like the cat that got the cream. It slightly unnerved him, finding no problem in doing the opposite of her and keeping his eyes level with her own. 

“You must be the infamous Steve, I was starting to think Sam had made you up”, the woman said, offering her hand, “I’m Sharon.”

“Nice to meet you, ma’am”, he returned, along a firm handshake.

The conversation hadn't even started yet and there was already an awkward lull. He felt like he had started a marathon, only to realize a hundred feet in that he didn’t want to be running. He gave her a polite smile and flipped to the non-alcoholic drink side of the menu, avoiding Sam’s gaze. Sharon was a beautiful woman, light blue eyes and blonde hair that had been highlighted, making it lighter than his own. Steve didn’t care about looks though, it had always been about the inside, and he was sure she was a lovely woman, if he could just get to know her. He put his best foot forward and directed a question at her.

“This is a great place, who picked it?”

Her reaction was subtle but instant, a small crinkling of the nose.

“Sam did. It’s fine, if you like this sort of place”, she responded, gingerly flipping a laminated page of the menu. Sam jumped in to defend his choice,

“Look, everything on the menu is good! You could close your eyes and pick and it would still be good.”

After that Sam segued the conversation into some zoo story that made both women laugh, but Steve wasn’t paying attention. He could already tell by Sharon’s reaction to the restaurant that this was going to be a long evening.

Bucky strolled up to the table like he did any other. It was in Dugan’s section for the night, but the poor sucker had gotten stuck with a birthday group of eight that had arrived two minutes before this table, leaving the four-top unattended for a bit until Bucky noticed. He was sure he didn’t know any of them at the table but couldn’t help the strange leap in his chest when he saw broad, blond guy sitting on the left edge. The other man and two women weren’t bad looking either, but there was something about this guy… Buck ignored it and pulled the paper pad out of this back pocket, switching gears into server-mode.

“Welcome to the Howling Commando’s, first timers are always welcome.”

The blond man looked at him sharply, his gaze intense. Bucky was thrown for a second by how deep blue his eyes were, until the African American man across from him distracted him by snorting and saying,

“How can you tell we’re new, man?”

Bucky smiled and tapped the edge of his pen on this guy’s menu, “Only newbies have to look.”

The guy gave a concession nod, and the woman pressed against him gave a small giggle. The blond guy had stopped intensely staring, but still looked perplexed and asked,

“Do we know each other?”

Bucky took a moment he knew he didn’t need to take in the guy's face, before nonchalantly replying, “I don’t think so. You ever been here before?”

“No, I think I’d remember being in a place as unique as this.”

It was said with genuine admiration, stoking the pride Bucky had for the place he had helped build. He had started warming to the table a bit, until the previously silent blond woman piped up.

“That's nice and all, but this has been a little ridiculous. We have been waiting for you, since we got seated ages ago. We had to get our own drinks from the bar too. The only thing that saved you is that Steve here was late too, so you lucked out on that one.”

Her words and petulant tone were accompanied by a small shove on the guy's—on Steve’s shoulder. An annoyed look rippled over his face, like his last nerve was being tested. It only lasted for a second and the way he was turned towards Bucky, meant that he’d been the only one to see it. Bucky was used to dealing with the odd, annoying customer, but appreciated the weird sense of solidarity he felt with this stranger. He tried to shake it off, reminding himself that by all indications this guy was on a date with the complaining chick, and one nice comment was nothing to get his hand-me-down heart in a twist over.

“Well, we do have a few other customers, but I’m sorry about that, sweetheart”, Bucky finally replied, turning on the charm he had when he was working the floor like this.

“Well, you should tell your manager that the place needs some help, then”, she snarked, turning back to her menu.

“I’ll make sure he gets the message”, Bucky tried to say sincerely without cracking a grin, “You folks need one more minute?”

The woman’s small speech had driven the other three deep into their menus, giving embarrassed nods, while she browsed unaffected by the atmosphere she had created. As Bucky turned to check on his other tables, a light touch on his arm stopped him.

“Could I just get a cup of coffee?”, Steve requested, following it with an almost imperceptible head jerk at his date, mouthing the word “sorry”.

“No problem”, Bucky responded, giving an answer to both of the things that Steve had said.

  


The server had just left the table to take a few minutes when a phone began to ring. All four of them rustled through their purses and pockets, before Steve emerged with the offending item. It was a godsend, with the atmosphere of the table currently stifling. He didn’t even care that Sharon was giving him a scathing look…actually it made taking the call even better. After they had gotten through greetings earlier, she had chimed in only negative remarks throughout the conversation, especially upon learning Steve didn’t own any buildings in New York he _just_ designed them. Between that and her touching him casually, like she owned him, he was already stretched thin. It had taken all his willpower not to lose it when she had gone off on the poor server, though the guy didn’t seem to care. He had swaggered over to their table, absolutely perplexing Steve. Nothing about his loosely pulled back brown hair or grey eyes was superficially familiar, but there was something about him that Steve couldn't quite put his finger on. This man had been completely calm and reassured, even with Sharon's little tantrum. If Steve didn’t know any better, he’d swear the guy almost looked like he wanted to crack a smile when she'd mentioned the manager. There was just something about him that seemed so familiar…either way Steve liked how unruffled the brunette had been at Sharon’s outbursts.

“Sorry guys, gotta take this.”

Steve had tried to make his voice sound apologetic, but he wasn’t sure he had quite succeeded. Sliding from the booth, he made his way to the quietest corner he could find, behind the bar and near a second door to the kitchen, hidden from the public eye behind a corner.

The call itself was unimportant, Fury asking a question about some numbers Steve had scribbled on the new blueprints he had handed over that morning for the revised indoor water enclosure. He had been floored that Steve was anywhere besides Prospect Park or his house. Shaking his head, Steve got off the call, shamefully planning how to spin a story about the call being something important that required him leaving immediately. Before he started back to the booth, his eyes caught on a cluster of photographs he had been standing beside for the duration of his one-minute call. They were modern photos, brightly colored in dark wood frames. The spot they were in would keep them out of sight of most customers, but impossible to miss for anyone coming out of the kitchen. One outlier picture was obviously of the building, when the restaurant sign had first been hung, new and shining. There was one of a man with a bushy, handlebar mustache with his arm around a blond bombshell, obviously pregnant at the time of the picture.

It was the center picture, also the biggest, that made Steve let out a small laugh. In the photo, there was a group of men standing in a line in front of the restaurant building. Steve recognized a few of the guys from the bar and kitchen, all standing like they were at attention. In the center was handlebar mustache man and his server tonight, the latter looking thinner and more tired, but still undeniably him. They were sharing custody of a deed, held up between them like a banner.

The kitchen door swung open, almost hitting Steve. The man of the hour emerged, as if Steve had summoned him by thought alone. In his hand was the steaming cup of coffee, Steve had asked for. They stood eyes locked for a second, before Steve looked at the picture frame and back at him.

“So were you going to tell her you’re the owner?”

“Partial owner”, the guy corrected, “Your girlfriend isn’t the only person like that in Brooklyn, no use trying to lord it over all of them”.

“Oh she’s not my—not my anything, not even a friend, barely an acquaintance”, Steve rambled, flushing. The guy just raised an eyebrow at him. Trying to recover, Steve went on, slightly more put-together.

“I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to enjoy that coffee. I’m not going to try and stick this one out. It was nice to meet you though…?”

“James Barnes”, he said, before adding, “Friends call me Bucky.”

“Bucky”, Steve restated, feeling a warmth spread through him, before adding, “I’m Steve”. There was a beat before they split where their eyes held, then Bucky turned back to the kitchen and Steve went to make his excuses at the table.

Predictably, Sam tried to convince Steve to stay and Sharon was very vocal in her displeasure. Maria was the only one who didn’t say anything, just giving him another sympathetic look. It took a few moments and many reiterative good-byes, but he finally broke away completely and made a beeline for the door.

Outside in the cool night air, he felt his shoulders relax down. The teenage kid who’d parked his truck, recognized him and hopped up to go bring it over from wherever it had spent the evening. The door opened behind Steve and he moved out of the way, assuming it was other patrons leaving, until the person said, “Here.”

Steve looked up from his own feet, face to face again with Bucky, who was holding a Styrofoam box with a to-go coffee cup balanced on top. He was so surprised he blurted the first thing that came to his mind.

“I didn’t pay for it!”

Bucky paused and then let out a snort, nearly losing the carefully balanced coffee to the sidewalk below. Stilling himself, he pushed it towards Steve again who gingerly accepted.

“I promise I won’t call the cops on you for taking a burger and fries from the owner of the business”, Bucky said, making a small crossing motion over his heart.

“Sounds like I could still be liable, since you’re only a partial owner”, Steve teased, surprising himself with how easy it felt to joke with this guy he’d met approximately fifteen minutes before. Bucky smiled and shoved his hands into his jeans, before regretfully saying,

“Well, I guess I should go take care of your friends. Wouldn’t want them to complain to the manager. Nice to meet you, Steve.”

Steve couldn’t help the small disappointment he felt as Bucky turned to head back inside. Logically he knew Bucky had a place to run and Steve had already taken up enough of his time, but the urge to keep talking to him… it was something he hadn’t felt for a long time.

The teenage valet then pulled up with his truck, no new dents that Steve could see, which was enough for him. Trading spots, he set the food on the passenger seat. He didn’t have to head home; Dodger had already been taken care of by his neighbor. He started driving, finding himself in one of the back parking lots of Prospect Park. Somehow he always ended up here. Making the decision to hop out and eat his dinner in the bed of the truck, he opened the glovebox to grab some napkins and saw the letter on top. The warm mood he had been enjoying, dipped. Sighing he grabbed his food and the letter and hopped out.

He let himself settle and have a bite of food, still warm from the restaurant and absolutely delicious, before he focused on the envelope. Inside the clinical one from the hospital, was a well-worn smaller envelope. The paper inside was just one sheet. It wasn’t elaborate. Steve read it over slowly, _Dear Donor Family_ … _I hope this letter can bring some comfort…words cannot express my gratitude…It is because of you I am alive today._ It ended with a simply thank you, anonymous to him as he was to whoever they were. Sitting back, he let the feeling wash over him. It was always the loss, but there was a small, unexpected comfort. He didn’t particularly welcome it. He hadn’t saved anyone, Peggy had.

He sat for the better part of an hour, thinking, and slowly picking at the food. It wasn’t until a particularly cool breeze ruffled his hair, that he realized he had left his jacket at the Howling Commando’s and it wasn’t too late for him to go back and get it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally had a chance to update! Thank goodness for Spring Break. Steve and Bucky finally meet! Also I apologize for the characterization of Sharon, she just happened to be the name I picked for a character that I needed to be a bit of a Karen.


End file.
